


Oasis

by Fix9



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, If You Squint - Freeform, It’s just like. Comfort without the hurt lol, M/M, Post-MAG 180, but like w a dash of minor angst bc it is tma, enjoy, i hyperfocus wrote this at 3 in the morning, idk what else to tag this as lol, safehouse pt two: the safehousing, theres like a pinch of web!martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fix9/pseuds/Fix9
Summary: They sleep for twenty three hours.And then they wake up.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 125





	Oasis

They sleep for twenty three hours.

They sleep for twenty three hours in the softest, warmest bed that has ever existed. (They could have stayed on the hardwood floor at Mikaele Salesa’s feet and would have thought it the softest, warmest hardwood floor that has ever existed.) Twenty three hours, and it still isn’t enough. But they sleep beside each other, limbs tangled in a way that can only be described as _cozy_.

Despite only having slept in the same bed for handful of nights before certain events occurred that would have happened to anyone in Jon’s circumstances, they are so comfortable together. It’s a comfortability, a familiarity that only exists between people who have seen the best in each other and the worst in each other and choose to love the best, the worst and everything in between.

Jon wakes up first. He is reluctant to do so, but while he knows the sky is still staring down at the apocalyptic suffering that has swallowed the earth, all green and red and purple like a bruise and _watching_ with a thousand unfeeling eyes, he understands that in another life the sun would be streaming in through the blinds, making everything sepia-warmed and smelling of fresh sheets and tea with lemon and honey.

The first thing Jon notices is that he and Martin are still wearing what they’ve worn for the past however many months it has been. Their clothes are singed and torn and caked in dirt and blood and various other substances that, Ceaseless Watcher be damned, he refuses to identify.

The second thing he notices (and feels bad for not noticing sooner) is Martin. He gazes down fondly at the man he loves, who is currently passed out and slightly drooling and covered in apocalypse gunk and sporting eye bags the size of parachutes. He is beautiful. Jon notices that Martin’s hair has grown quite a bit since they came to this oasis, the time catching up to them just like their hunger and exhaustion. He wants to reach out and touch Martin’s newly formed beard, but he doesn’t want to wake him. So instead he stretches, and he feels every muscle and joint in his body exhale with a gasp for the first time in ages. He goes to the bathroom down the hall and has the best shower he has ever had.

Martin wakes up next. He knew he was awake before he worked up the energy to open his eyes, but he tried to get in just five more minutes, a thought he has not had in a long time. The bed is so soft, the air in the room has that worn-in, dusty quality to it that brings to mind gingham and tire swings and Illustrated Classics. He feels the pull to write a poem about it, and is shocked to remember that he can.

The first thing Martin notices (when he eventually forces his eyes open) is that his face is itchy like when he was living in the archives and forgot to bring a razor. This leads him to realize that his clothes seem to have lost the race against time and apocalypse gunk and are basically ruined forever.

The second thing Martin notices (and then feels guilty for not noticing sooner) is Jon, standing in a towel in front of an ornate wooden wardrobe, trying to see if anything that was left in there when the previous owners were... _relocated_ will fit him. Martin sits up on his elbows and smiles warmly at the back of Jon’s head. He is beautiful. He feels the pull to write a poem about him, and is comforted to know he will.

“Good morning.”

“Good lord!” Jon jumps and spins around, clutching his towel like some disgraced Victorian heiress. “Right, yes. Good morning to you as well.”

Martin’s smile grows. “How are you feeling?”

“Clean. The water pressure here is incredible.”

“And real water comes out of it? Not like, blood or maggots or anything?” Martin yawns.

Jon laughs. “No. I can say with one hundred percent certainty that there is no evil fear apocalypse nonsense in the pipes. How are you feeling?”

“Not quite well-rested, but to be honest I don’t think I’ll ever be not-tired again. And hungry. I’m really really hungry.” He gets up and walks over to Jon. “And I have to warn you: there’s a chance my breath smells like actual roadkill.”

“Why does that matter? There are toothbrushes-“ Jon begins, but is quickly silent as Martin kisses him softly. His kisses feel different here. Outside, every kiss could be their last. This one feels like a beginning. He is frozen for a moment and then slowly says, “I see.”

“I’m going to go shower and then eat literally anything in the kitchen. I will eat a tea bag if I have to.” Martin turns to leave but Jon catches his wrist and pulls him into a tight hug.

“I love you.” Jon says, muffled from pressing his face into Martin’s chest. He says it because it’s true and because sleepy good-morning kisses are something he could get used to.

“I love you too, but I think it’s actually detrimental to your health to inhale any of the substances on this shirt.”

Jon steps back. “Right. Yes. Well then. You shower, I’ll get dressed, and then food.”

“And then food,” Martin agrees.

The table is set for two when they get downstairs. Jon found a long, flowy skirt in the wardrobe that fits, and Martin is at last at home in a knit sweater that reminds him of one he had before. Their hosts are nowhere to be found, and for once neither Jon nor Martin are worried about what that means. There is a pot of some delicious-smelling soup on the stovetop marked with a sticky note that reads merely “ _Enjoy. Pace yourselves. Look forward to speaking with you. M_.” Beside it, a loaf of bread that looks and smells fresh baked.

The dining room is big, but not too big. It is meant for gatherings of the extended family rather than large, formal business dinners. It is all dark wood and deep red, but everything is worn down with age and use and comfort that it isn’t stiff. There are big windows, but the curtains are drawn. Martin can picture what it would look like if natural light still existed. Some of the chairs come from somewhere else, and the mismatched assemblage just adds to the feeling of life that exists here, in this oasis. Martin and Jon sit at their places, but they are on either head of the table and it’s far too formal and vampiric for their liking, so Jon moves down to Martin’s end and sits next to him. A faint memory of lunches shared back when Martin lived in the archives floats in the back of Jon’s mind. Martin is just about to eat when he notices Jon staring off into space.

“Jon? Are you alright?”

“Hm?” He says faintly, coming back to himself. “Oh yes. Sorry. Just thinking about...everything.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just put it on hold for a minute. The apocalypse won’t end or get better or get worse if you just take a break and have some soup.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sounds almost convinced. He shifts his gaze to the steaming bowl of soup before him.

After a beat of perfecting his ‘quizzical’ look, Martin frowns. “Wait. You...are hungry, right?”

Jon fidgets and avoids eye contact. “Yes? Maybe? I don’t really know?”

“Jon.”

“Even before I didn’t really know. I felt more full after a statement than after a meal? And I sort of stopped really eating? And then I brought about the apocalypse and then I definitely didn’t need food, so...no? I guess?”

Martin lets the silence settle before he smiles and says, “I’m so used to you Knowing everything. It’s kind of adorable to see you like this.”

“Yes yes, laugh at the eldritch terror who doesn’t know how he feels at any given moment, ha ha.” Jon’s smile is never toothy or wide, or even that much of a smile. More often than not he just sort of teases the possibility of a smile by making his mouth small and curved. It is very personal, as if it is a thing to be shared between only two people. Martin could metaphorically save the world for that smile.

“I mean, seriously. If you aren’t hungry you can go find Annabelle or Salesa if you want. I don’t mind.” A part of him means it. The Lonely is funny that way. It’s like a cigarette. Even if you quit, the damage remains, scarring your insides and giving you a nasty cough.

But the Lonely has nothing on Jonathan Sims, who takes Martin’s hand and looks into his eyes and says, “Martin.”

Martin sighs like they’ve been through this dozens of times. Which, to be fair, they have. “Jon.”

“I love you. I am _actively_ in love with you. I will never leave you behind. Not to save the world, not to go to the other end of this house.”

Martin rolls his eyes. If he didn’t, he might cry like he almost always did during this speech. “Yes, I know, I love you too.”

“Besides,” Jon shrugs after dotting a quick kiss on Martin’s hand, “I care far more about sitting with you and enjoying...whatever this place is than about running around looking for answers. The eye can’t reach this place, so I don’t care. The only place I want to be is here, at this table, with you.”

There is the unsaid _what if_ that hangs over them; _what if_ they hadn’t worked at the institute but had still managed to meet, _what if_ they didn’t need to save the world and die trying. What if every day could be like this, full of lazy mornings and comfortable meals and warmth.

But they don’t need what ifs, because Martin is eating because he has to and Jon is eating because Martin has to and it is the best thing they have ever tasted. Because they are in love and for now, they are safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed! This was really self indulgent bc I just want them to be safe and to have some soup. I swear if y’all care I’m working on getting the next chapter of the gertrudeagnes fic out I just can’t work around the timeline lol. - Fix9
> 
> Edit (after 181 came out) - wow I really underestimated their capacity for sleep lol I was way off


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